The Contact
by X.x.Try.Defying.Gravity.x.X
Summary: Info: OC/Sirius steamy romance. AU Summer before 6th year with Sirius alive. Will become M rated later as needed, please remember to favorite or allow M in your filter to find it later. Summary: When a friend of Tonks, a new Order Recruit, starts getting to know Sirius Black, she can tell there's more to him than meets the eye, but can she help his loneliness and haunted past?
1. Is She Or Isn't She?

He first noticed her because of her hair, an unnatural shade of something between red and purple. _Aubergine._ His mind supplied the color, though he wasn't sure where the unexpected vocabulary had come from. Sirius couldn't say he spent a lot of time reading to beef up his vocabulary — he didn't hate books, but the most he usually read was the Daily Prophet or maybe a magazine on Quidditch or wizarding vehicles now and then — or that he was an expert in women's hair colors either. Her hair was long, reaching her lower back and in one of those fishtail-type braids, though it was starting to come apart a little with strands loose here and there, and several strands framing her face on either side.

Her complexion was slightly - very slightly - bronze on top of would-be pale skin, as if she'd recently spent the day at the beach and the sun had layered her skin perfectly. Her fingers were long and graceful, curved loosely around her mug of steaming coffee which she was drinking black.

He couldn't help but respect a woman who drank coffee black. Sirius had always loved coffee. A lot. A hot cup was one of the first things he'd done once he was a "free" man. Even now, a fancy wizarding-type espresso machine graced the counter of 12 Grimmauld place.

Her right elbow rested casually on the table, and that hand reached backward, resting on the back of her neck, twisting the loose strands of hair at the nape of her neck around her fingers repeatedly. He could only get a glimpse of her facial features from his position, especially because the coffee shop was a little dark anyway. It was a muggle one, but that didn't mean that the strong cup of java in front of him was any less delicious or potent — coffee was one thing muggles knew how to get right too. Besides, it wasn't like they could have met at a wizard coffee shop. Muggle London was the only place Sirius ever got to go anyway. Otherwise, he was confined to 12 Grimmauld place — for his own safety. He gritted his teeth and decided not to think about it. At least now that the 'scare of Sirius Black' had been over for nearly three years, cleaned up and dressed in fresh clothes, he didn't look so alarming or odd that muggle London would notice him as anything of particular interest, so there he could go occasionally when he started to feel like a caged up animal.

He took another deep drink of Kona before looking back at the girl and scrutinizing what he could see of her facial features between her profile and the dim lighting. She had a long nose, perfectly straight with a tasteful piercing in the side facing him. She wore a tiny, green gem of some sort in it. He couldn't see if she wore earrings or had ear piercings because the loose strands of her hair were in the way. In front of her, she had one of those typically girly magazines _Cosmopolitan_. She was reading an article about makeup for summer. Personally, Sirius didn't think she needed the tips of either muggle _or_ wizarding magazines about makeup. She had what looked to be naturally medium thickness eyebrows, chiseled into the perfect shape above her eyes, which were lined with the perfect amount of eyeliner and mascara, the lids brushed with a light coat of sea-green sparkly eyeshadow which matched the stud in her nose. Her lips sparkled very slightly with a lip gloss only a few shades more strawberry wine than natural lips. That was it. She knew how to rock the minimal makeup look, obviously.

He was having a hard time deciding if this was indeed the girl he was supposed to meet or not. That was the one problem with meeting people in muggle London. She could just as easily be some intriguing looking muggle girl as she could be a witch. Even her clothes told him nothing — short shorts in navy, just long enough to be tasteful and just short enough to draw attention to her long, lithe legs. Her legs were muscled, he noticed. She must work out because her body was the athletic type. He grimaced, thinking about that.

When he'd first got out of Azkaban, his skin had been ashen and sallow; his muscles had been near atrophied from never getting to come out of his cell, even for the briefest moment. He'd heard even _muggle_ prisoners at least got a couple of daily walks. Then again, what could one expect from dementors? Certainly, they weren't the sort of prison guards to let you go for a walk. There hadn't even been a place to walk. Azkaban was on a cliff out in the middle of the sea. There was only so much working out when you lived over a decade in a cell not much larger than three paces wide and three paces long. His athletic build had certainly suffered.

Back in his Hogwarts days and after when he'd been working for the Order during the first wizarding war, he knew his body had been a thing of beauty to behold. Did that count as cocky if it was true? He hadn't been sure and didn't care much. He'd spent a lot of his time working out back then. James bought an expensive weight set they shared. James always had been rather tactful about the fact that Sirius had come from money, grown up in a mansion with a house elf and had everything he ever wanted, and that it had been a hard transition to wind up penniless after his mother had burnt him off the tapestry. It wasn't that he'd wanted their filthy money anyway, but the transition from having endless pocket money to really having to scrimp was definitely an adjustment, and James had always done his best to help out. Thankfully, even though he had no idea what had become of the weight set - probably went up in flames with the destruction of James and Lily's home — He swallowed hard and willed his mind away from the black thoughts — he found his own ways to work out and had gotten at least part of his musculature back. His skin tone had improved. Only his eyes really showed what he had been through. Other people told him they had a haunted, dead kind of look that never went away.

No matter what, he had always admired girls with a nice body. Back in school his type had definitely been the female Quidditch players. Of course it was usually hands off if there were any birds on the Gryffindor team because James wanted his team focused. Slytherin was out. Way out. Ravenclaw — and rarely Hufflepuff due to the house's dedication to hard work — sometimes had had his type though. His tastes hadn't changed with an added almost two decades, and this girl was definitely reminding him of that. Her short shorts fell to just above strong but slender thighs. Her legs were stretched out in front of her. She had scarred up knees and a couple scars on her ankle as well. He liked that. There was something about absolute perfection that bothered him — ever since he'd been a kid and his family pushed that on him. And so he'd adopted a style of liking "almost" perfect. There were certain prejudices from being raised in the Black Household that would never leave him. Things like loving expensive clothes, fast brooms, and knowing he could have all the beautiful girls for a shag — as long as it wasn't as perfect as things had to be at home. That mentality had changed some after his time in Azkaban… but deep down it was still there, still part of him. Probably always would be.

He went back to studying the girl for any clues at all. She was wearing socks and trainers - bright in color but nondescript. Just like her jean shorts, they could be muggle or wizarding design. Back when Sirius had been at school, more people had started to take liberties of using some pieces of muggle fashion and figuring out how nice they were — blue jeans, for example. Ever since then, there had never ceased to be a numerous amount of wizarding clothing labels producing muggle-type clothing ("But better" was often in the tagline). His mother's portrait always shrieked when he wore clothes from said labels into the house.

On top the bird was wearing a t-shirt of some sort. It was a dark purple color with writing along the front he was just too far away from her to make out. _Damn it_. That was all he could tell about the t-shirt because she was wearing a hoodie over the top. The epitome of popularity right now it seemed like, was hoodies paired with shorts. Sirius didn't exactly understand why one would wear summer clothes on the bottom but what was meant to be a winter piece on the top, but hey if it floated her boat. The hoodie wasn't all that helpful either, though. It was black and made of some sort of slightly shiny fabric with two vertical purple stripes down the sleeves- the type of hoodie runners wore that breathed easily. There was absolutely nothing to distinguish her from any of the muggles coming in and out of the coffee shop except for the fact that it was pretty late and the shop wasn't as busy as it had been earlier — he'd come early to stake the place out and because any chance to get out of the house… and because she had arrived there exactly at the stroke of 11 pm, which was the time he was supposed to meet his contact.

Sirius sighed. He was going to have no choice but to go talk to her and try to weed out whether she was the one he was looking for.


	2. Is He Or Isn't He?

Sirius wasn't the only one watching. The witch's keen eyes had picked him out of the slim crowd when she entered the coffee shop immediately. There was something oddly familiar about the man, like she'd met him before somewhere, but wracking her brain didn't turn up any matching names or faces.

She had no idea if the man she noticed was her contact, but he was definitely the most interesting person present. She was way too sensible to be caught watching him, though. Working for the Ministry of Magic taught one to be more careful than that. She was always watching her back, but it was something she was used to. She'd been doing the same ever since she was eleven years old and left for school for the first time. She did keep a careful watch of him with furtive glances out of her peripheral vision though.

Upon arrival, she went up to the counter and looked at the board advertising the types of coffees and other drinks available. It looked like the cafe had a good selection. She ordered a Columbian and no thank you she did not need cream or sugar in it. Just unfettered Columbian goodness. Once, she'd been to Columbia and gotten to take a tour of a plantation where the beans were being grown. The smell had been heaven and had inundated her clothes and hair for the rest of the day, an intoxicating scent. Drinking it always took her back to that trip.

She waited for the barista to prepare her drink and picked up a recent issue of _Cosmopolitan_ from the table of magazines available to patrons. She wanted a chance to check out the people in the coffee shop while looking innocent — just a girl there to get a cup of coffee, and see if she could figure out if the man who had caught her eye initially was her contact or if it was someone else. Taking the drink the barista handed her, she went to an island seat where the bar was pressed up against the window. There wasn't much to see given it was night, but it was a quiet part of the coffee shop where no one was sitting, plus she liked high bar stools because they were comfortable for her long legs.

She flipped open the first page of the magazine. Often, her co-workers teased her about being so punk and yet liking the typical girly magazines with information about beauty, style, and relationships — both the muggle ones and the wizarding ones. She was pretty sure she might even have a copy of this very issue at home, but she'd been busy at the Ministry lately — to say the least — and she hadn't had time to read it; she might as well now while she was staking out the shop.

She tipped the heavy white mug up to her lips, steam spilling over her fingers and the scent of Columbian wafting over her nose and tongue at the same time. A balanced coffee, a good mixture of some sweetness with a tart acidity as well as a slight hint of nuttiness. Colombian was definitely one of her favorite flavors of coffee, and this joint didn't disappoint with their blend.

She had situated herself at the end of the island table where she could get the best look at the man she'd spotted, mentally appraising him. Obviously in the middle of a muggle coffee shop, there would be nothing obvious to give him away. Some wizards had problems with blending in, but someone working within the Order of the Phoenix most likely didn't, she reasoned; they'd have to be smarter than that. He was tall. She could tell even though he wasn't standing because his legs were stretched out the way she did with her own beneath tables. He was lithe, and she could see hints of his musculature in beneath his clothing.

He was a study in black. Black pants that looked excellently tailored to his frame, a button down shirt that was neither overly dressy or casual and had thin lines of silvery grey up and down its length, and even black hair. His hair was kind of messy and a little long, like he was going for a very deliberate "I messed this hair up on purpose" look. It worked on him. Generally, she thought longer hair looked pretty stupid on men, but it suited him, framing his face just so. His hair was black just like his clothing. She pegged him somewhere between 30 and 40 — hard to tell. Older than her, but beyond that and exactly how much was a mystery — especially since wizards do age more slowly than muggles anyway.

The exception to the study in black was one she found when she could feel his gaze on her and didn't resist the temptation to look back. His eyes were boring into her, and they were a startling silvery-grey colour. Stunning eyes, really. He was clean shaved, but the hint of a five o'clock shadow was creeping up his chin. His eyes were heavy lidded with bristling brows above and there was something a little saucy about his mouth. Or maybe it was even just that it looked like it _could_ be saucy with little effort. His lips were neither thick nor thin, and he had a well chiseled jaw with high, sculpted cheekbones — like some sort of.. Royalty. Her mind supplied the word unbidden and she wrinkled her nose. Now that she'd thought it, however, she couldn't quite help continuing to think that he did kind of look like royalty — not that wizards exactly had anything like that — unless you counted the really high up first tier pureblood families.

She pinched her lips together and forced herself to break eye contact with him, turning back to her magazine as if it was the most interesting read in the entire world, but she still saw his haunting grey eyes behind her own lids. She shook her head and turned a page in her magazine, downing another sip of Columbian. He was definitely attractive, but she was here to think about business, not attractive wizards — important business at that. She needed to remain focused. If the Order was to make use of her skills, she'd need to pay attention to what she was doing or she might lose her chance all together.

It had been her friend, Nymphadora Tonks who had first brought up the Order to her. She and Tonks were about the same age — Tonks being a couple of years younger. The two were just enough weird and quirky and just enough alike that when Tonks had been accepted as an auror and joined the Ministry, they'd become friends right away. That had been a bit ago, though time always seemed to slip by like grains of sand through fingers.

Tonks didn't keep her views a secret - she was as politically loud as the vivid shades of pink and purple she often wore her hair, only keeping quiet about her views when it was absolutely necessary. It was a little more necessary nowadays … now that it was obvious that Voldemort had risen again and his supporters could be anywhere — this was what had led to reforming the Order anyway. Dumbledore had been insisting he was back for over a year now, but until the scandal in the Ministry of Magic that previous June, people hadn't believed him. Honestly, she hadn't been sure she believed him. Now, she just felt foolish. The man was perhaps one of the most powerful wizards in the world as well as one of the most intelligent. Of course he would know something like that. Then again, hindsight was often 20/20. Of course, Tonks had been telling her all along she needed to have faith in Dumbledore and that what he and Harry Potter said were true, but… she supposed just like everyone else, she hadn't wanted to believe this was starting again. She was too young to really remember the first war in detail, but certain events she'd seen or heard about on the wizarding wireless during her school days certainly left their mark.

Though she wasn't as loud about her views as Tonks, she certainly agreed with her. This time, if there was going to be another war, she was anxious to do what she could to help. That was how she had come to be introduced to Albus Dumbledore in person and been asked to join the Order. The interview the two of them had had together was the oddest interview she'd ever had. She had expected the wizard to ask about her history, what skills she could bring to the Order, maybe have her loyalty tested. In fact, there had been very little of that at all. He responded to her as if he'd expected her to come, knew everything about her in a non-offending way, and immediately thought that _of course_ she would make a fine addition to their ranks. Instead, most of their interview was spent talking about his love for sherbet lemon, his Phoenix Fawkes, socks, and a lot of other strange-for-an-interview type topics.

"He's always eccentric like that." Tonks had told her when she'd explained about the odd 'interview' to her friend over Thai food the next evening following. "Plus, I mean, I told him loads about you, so there weren't many questions to ask really." She'd said before stuffing her mouth full of phat thai kung. "And didn't you say he helped get you into school before or something like that?" She'd been able to make out what her friend was saying around the mouthful. It was true. He had helped her get into school, but it wasn't like she'd met him before either.

Suddenly, she realized she must have not been paying attention, because the man in black had somehow gotten up from his table, drained his cup, folded his Daily Prophet, and crossed the room to stand at the edge of her table. _Damn_. She needed to pay more attention. She couldn't be sitting anywhere paying such little attention to her surroundings that someone could walk right up to her like that!

She sat up stick straight, her shoulders a little tense. This was probably the moment of truth. Dumbledore had said she would 'be able to figure it out' when she met her contact for the Order (What the hell did that mean? Did the man always make that little sense?) All he had said was when and where and that she would figure it out. Leaving an awful lot to chance, it felt like to her… but the older wizard had seemed plenty confident about the arrangement. She swallowed. She didn't want the contact to know she was nervous. She was already slated to be an Order member. Dumbledore had seen to that himself, but this might still be her first contact with someone in the Order other than Tonks and Dumbledore. This might still be the first person she met that she'd be working alongside to defend wizard-kind.

The dark haired wizard stood there for what seemed like an incredible amount of time before he produced a rather dog-eared copy of Newt Scamander's classic textbook _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. She was pretty sure every student read that book and used it in their magical creatures education at school.

"Is this yours? I found it on the floor just after you paid for your drink."

A good liar. There hadn't been a book on the floor when she paid for her drink, and she knew it. However, there was something so convincing about his tone that even she had to question it for a second.

She started to say it wasn't her book when suddenly, something occurred to her. Grabbing the book, she flipped to the index as quickly as she could looking for the page number about phoenixes. When she opened the book to that page, she found the phrase "Is it a burning day?" written in crisp penmanship. She swallowed hard. Suddenly, she had a feeling she understood what the barmy old wizard had said when he'd told her she'd "know" who her contact was. She looked up at the dark haired man and nodded once, showing she understood, inclining her head slightly toward the page on phoenixes before she let the book fall closed of its own accord.

"Good. I like burning days." The man said, his voice deeper and quieter than she'd somehow expected. Then he produced a pen and fluidly wrote something on her napkin she couldn't read from upside down. "What's your name?" He asked. He was speaking so quietly and unobviously that his lips barely seemed to move.

"Saige," she responded simply.

"I'm glad I was able to return your book to you then, Saige." He said simply, louder, for any listening ears, no doubt. Then he was flipping the napkin back around so she could read it.

Suddenly, before Saige could react — in fact while she was still trying to process what had been written on the napkin — the contact stepped back and strode purposefully toward the door already nearly there before she could look over. He returned his cup to the counter on his way out, and the bell above the door tinkled lightly once. Jumping to her feet so fast she nearly knocked over her bar stool, she barely resisted the urge to run to the door to follow him to see where he'd gone. He'd been utterly perfect at his role as a contact, but now how would she ever find him again?

Unable to dash after him without being painfully obvious, Saige lifted herself back into the chair and looked at the napkin. It was the same penmanship from _Fantastic Beasts_. This time it read only:

00:46 / Brix — Hi


End file.
